The Collection
by Takigawa Aki
Summary: Anthology. Various prompts and gifts. Collection of my largest Tumblr works. Different ratings therein. All chapters are stand-alone so nothing needs to be read in order. Skip around to your heart's content.
1. DaeAla - The End of the Beginning

**AN: **Hi, guys! Long time no see. Well, I've been active on Tumblr, y'see, roleplaying (main blogs are a Daemon and a Mukuro right now). And we have this thing called _drabble prompts. _Sometimes they're based on the roleplay history, so you might find some things here that you won't recognise, but I'll try my best to keep them generic. This is going to be my Tumblr fic spot. I don't like all the pairings that will be posted here, because some are for birthday presents, too.

**Prompt: **To Daemon. Kill Me, Haunt Me, Love Me. From Alaude.

**Hands of God**

"A month or so."

You aren't the only one that this hurts, Daemon thought darkly. That gaunt face, icy eyes rheumy now and skin thin enough to show the ghostly image of his skeleton underneath. Look at that hair, dull, lifeless, flopped over a pale forehead and soaked with sweat. He could practically feel the heat of fever from there.

"Another month with this, Alaude."

Oh, it hurt too much to return his gaze when Alaude looked sideways at him. The eyes that should have been too sharp. "You've already aged so far," Daemon pleaded, gripping the rail of the bed until his knuckles went white. "You've lived enough. Why don't you just end this now?"

For a long time there was no answer, and he thought that perhaps there wouldn't be. Was he too tired to speak, or done with the argument? "I can't do it again," he finally said. His voice was hoarse. "After this, I don't get to age. I only have a little more life because of the consumption." A pause, as if he wouldn't continue, but suddenly he murmured so softly it was nearly inaudible: "Scarcity makes things precious."

Oh, how he itched to slap that face, but it was too weak, too soft, too fragile. How was he still so elegant? "There will be plenty of pain after you die," he spat. "There's nothing scarce about it. You're not living, you're dying. It's not worth it."

"Not giving up my last time," came the answer after several moments of infuriating silence. "I'm not you."

Flinch. "Obviously not," he muttered, glancing away. "You're better off that way."

It was decided.

Until he started coughing blood.

Great, hacking coughs, racking coughs, sounded like they'd break his ribs coughs, coughs that made his eyes water and tears roll down his cheeks. Coughs that spewed blood that was too dark until the handkerchief was soaked. Coughs that wouldn't let him sleep, that must have hurt until the next one began. Two weeks so far, and still weeks to go by the doctor's estimate. No no no.

He couldn't wait to see Alaude's healthy young face again. Couldn't wait to not see him so sick, so sad, so weak. Wrong, wrong, wrong. It was as if his body were trying to punish him for the immortality he would have soon.

Not soon enough.

Daemon's eyes lingered on the ring on Alaude's skeletal finger. It was only a placeholder, where the Vongola Cloud had been, because it was passed onto the third generation by now, and Alaude had explained that his finger had felt wrong without something there. Daemon had gotten him a nicer ring, a flame one, and that sat starkly violet against his emaciated knuckles.

"You're done, Alaude."

Eyelids flickered and watery eyes moved towards him. His expression didn't change, didn't waver. Alaude didn't move. His lips were a thin, pale line. Chapped, dry, peeling. "Wondered," he started to say, then paused with a loud cough into a handkerchief. Sounded like death warmed over. "…when you'd do it."

"You knew I would," he murmured with a long breath. "'S not worth it, Liebe. You'll be young and healthy again. Full of life."

"But dead." The words were a dull murmur. "No heart."

"Plenty of heart!" he retorted quickly. "No heavy, slow, fleshy bag of meat and bones to get sick and wounded. Whatever you want, it's yours. Cities to build and take down again! You are unbelievably French, meine Schatz." Too damn romantic. Wanted to hold onto everything. Life and death and yada yada! Even consumption was a poem! "Go to sleep."

That earned a small snort and a wry smile that cut into him with sudden ferocity. "Do it right," Alaude murmured. "If you're going to do it, you have to look me in the eye."

His breath shuddered out of his lungs as if he, too, were ill. Daemon's jaw gritted, clenching and working as he stared at the man who returned his look without a wink. "What, do you want it to hurt, too?" he demanded.

There was a pause, and he seemed to mull it over. "I didn't think of that. I do."

…No, damn it, this wasn't—

"Alright." He surprised himself with the evenness of his tone. "I'll make it hurt, Liebe. But I won't let you hurt long." Couldn't be something sweet like a pillow over his face, no, had to hurt. Damn it all. "Believe me, the transition to the ring hurts enough as it is."

The knife glittered in flickering candlelight. The sight of that sickening, churning, deathly leech jar out of the corner of his eye was all the encouragement he needed. "Besten Reisen, Schatz."

He kept his promise. It hurt. It hurt so badly that Alaude cried out, thrashed like an animal, squeezed his eyes shut as they leaked tears, but it didn't hurt for long. Not until it was over, anyway.

He wondered if Alaude would ever forgive him.


	2. 1869 - Scars

**Prompt: **To Mukuro. Advantage. From Kyouya.  
**Rating: **T

**Scars**

_What do you want from me?_

The world was spinning too quickly. Everything was wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Lifting his head, he caught just a glimpse of white before it all went dark.

_Everything._

The sudden awareness of someone else in the room brought Mukuro out of his dream, his eyes snapping open as he sat up, clutching the blanket around him. It was too dark to see well, but he could make out the dim shape at the foot of the bed, hear dull footsteps as the figure moved around beside him. Before he could speak, put his guard up, he felt something warm touch his cheek, moving down to stroke the side of his neck. He knew those fingers. Without a word he relaxed, leaning into the hand that cupped his chin as he returned a soft kiss that seemed to take the tension out of each of his muscles.

"Kyouya," he murmured, eyes falling shut again as he laid back, tugging the newcomer by his arm to join him on the bed. "I missed you."

There was no reply but the soft creak of the bed as he sat on the edge of the mattress and slowly brushed the back of his knuckles along Mukuro's cheekbone, tucking bits of hair behind his ear. By now he could just make out a little bit of the other's face, see the curve of his lips…

He was frowning. Scowling. Surprised, Mukuro started to lean up on his elbows, but a vise-like grip on his hair stopped him as he yelped. "What—?!"

His other hand came down on Mukuro's mouth, breaking the shout. "Shut up," he hissed, leaning down towards his face. "I'm going to move my hand and you're going to keep quiet." A very small nod. "Good."

The hand gingerly pulled away; the one in his hair, however, didn't loosen. There was a click and the bedside lamp lit up, making the Italian flinch a little, eyes narrowing against the sudden light. The look on Kyouya's face gave him pause. He gulped; his Adam's apple bobbed uncertainly. He parted his lips, started to say his name, but a jerk of his hair stopped him as his eyes watered from the sting.

"You didn't call me when you escaped," was the first hiss out of the brunette's mouth as he leaned down so their faces were only inches away. The sentence made Mukuro blink, starting to say something again. He was only stopped by a snarl. "I know what you did."

For a long several seconds the only sound was their breathing. One was shallow, quick, a little fearful; the other rough, furious. One of the tears spilled from the corner of his eye as his hair was yanked again; a small whimper escaped his throat. "Kyouya, let me—"

"No." The front of his shirt tore loudly, leaving sore places on his back where the fabric pressed into him.

He was having trouble wrapping his mind around what was happening. It was only days since he'd come to the Vongola shelter, only a week since he had escaped Vendicare. Three days since Byakuran's fall. It was his first time relaxing into a bed, unhindered by the harried rebuilding that surrounded them. His first real rest since the recuperation immediately after attaining his freedom.

First time face-to-face with Hibari Kyouya, longtime lover. He'd imagined several times what this first meeting as adults would be. This had never crossed his mind.

"Did you throw yourself onto him, Mukuro?" came the hiss as fingers roughly searched his torso, dipping into every inch of his skin as though searching for flaws. For now, they found none, and he was rolled over forcefully onto his stomach as his sleep pants were pulled down without ceremony. "Where did he touch you?"

Realization was slowly dawning, coupled with horror. His face was shoved into his pillow too hard to reply with anything but a muffled protest, his fingers digging into the sheets as a hand traced his back and dipped around the curve of his ass, bringing a little shiver. Abruptly the heat of humiliation was beginning to turn to anger as Mukuro gritted his teeth, bearing the horribly thorough exploration with a frigid stillness.

Finally the hand retreated and he was pushed onto his back again, this time stark naked but for the shreds of his shirt. Two furious gazes met, but Kyouya was the one to move. He let go of the raven locks tangled in his hand and pulled it back only to slam the back of his hand across his cheek, earning a gasp as Mukuro's neck cracked with the whip of his head. It was a struggle not to moan with pain. He could already feel the swelling begin.

"Go ahead," he hissed, a little bit slurred as he tasted blood. He'd bitten his tongue. "Take what you want and get out. Isn't that what you're here for?"

His accusation met only with disgust, fury rising in silver eyes. "I would never take a slut," he growled, turning his gaze aside to look him up and down once more as though he could find something that he had missed before. "You may not have let him have your material body, but he had you. I knew that look when you got here."

The revelation dowsed the Italian's anger immediately. His shoulders drooped a little, eyes going wide as he tried to sit up, moving back a few inches. "You don't know what…"

"What happened?" was the enraged retort. "You let him touch you! Your illusion, but you felt every bit, just like when I touched you. The way he looked at you on the battlefield!" He wasn't sure he'd ever heard Kyouya speak so much before, but the thought was jarred from his mind by a second slap, this time an open hand across the other cheek. "You seduced him. And when he fell, you grieved, Mukuro! How long did he have you? How many times did he take you?" Fingers dug into his jaw, forcing him to look up at the accusation in his eyes. _"What debauched things did you let him do to you?"_

"Everything." The word slipped from his lips before he could stop it. By now Mukuro wasn't sure if the tears in his eyes were from pain or hurt. "He took everything. If it had been my real body, and the marks he made were still there, I wouldn't have bothered to escape. I would have killed myself." The crack in his voice at the end was frustrating. Don't make me lay this out.

"Show me." The demand was flat, intense. "Show me what you looked like. I want to see what he did."

His breath hitched painfully in his chest. "No. No one is ever going to see."

"Then go ahead and do it!"

He was shocked silent.

"Go ahead and kill yourself. I don't want to see you again. I don't want your diseased blood on my hands or I would do it myself!" Violently the brunette stood, fists clenched, trembling with rage, at his sides. "Start hiding under rocks again, like a cockroach! You've always been!"

The door slammed behind him hard enough to echo.

Mukuro's mind had frozen, gone numb with hurt. He'd thought the same things more than once.

He didn't know how long he laid staring at the ceiling, feeling his cheeks swell and jaw bruise. His tongue eventually stopped bleeding, leaving a bitter, rusty taste in the mouth. The ceiling fan had developed a creak.

Sometime before morning he walked into the bathroom and leaned on the counter, looking into the mirror. He couldn't bring himself to react to the black and blue on his face, the lines on his back where fabric had bitten into him.

There was a razor in one hand when he started running the bathtub faucet.


	3. 1827 - Happy Birthday, Decimo

**AN: **This is birthday fic. It's for the mun of a Tsuna, as well as for Tsuna's birthday. Since it was on my Daemon account, the note at the top is from Daemon Spade. Tricky, eh? ;D

**Pairing: **1827-ish (not my thing, but.)  
**Rating: **M

**Happy Birthday, Decimo**

_Let me give you a nice dream._

This was a pretty good Sunday, all considered.

Kyouya usually prefered the weekdays just because the school was open then. Of course, it was open to him anytime, but all the milling sheep of the student population were out and about and making trouble and worst of all, they were crowding. But they were nowhere near the school now, and that was a relief. It would be such an irritation to be interrupted now.

After all, he was really getting into this. It wasn't often he had to go to such extremes to discipline a student, but the waves created by the group that always crowded around the mousy little brat were annoying him. And he'd been thoughtful about this method for a few months now, just waiting for a reason to use it. Who could resist? He was the perfect candidate.

There was a little smirk pulling at his lips as he eyed the petite brunette in front of him. Kusakabe was holding Sawada Tsunayoshi by the arms; another of the disciplinary committee had a hand on his shoulder as if to remind him there were several men present in case he thought about attempting an escape. As if he would ever have the guts to try it. Honestly, Kyouya would have liked to see it; it would be all the more reason to make this brutal. He hadn't realized he was licking his lips till he saw the kid shiver. Oh, that was good—keep watching him with those scared eyes. He liked it when people acknowledged his strength. It was like bitches bending over for the alpha. Sometimes it even got him hot.

This time was no exception, especially in anticipation of the discipline to come. His skin seemed to crawl with heat, like a wave of little tongues of flame that made its way up and down his spine, sending jolts of it down his arms and thighs. The cloud's eyes were focused even sharper than usual, like silver lasers on the captive. He'd never realized before how much more he could feel like a carnivore, given the right stimulation. And he certainly had it now. He felt like a predator. It was as arousing as it was satisfying. He liked the feeling of power; it was the sensation that came when he could control other people. They bowed to his whims. That was how it should have been.

His whims were raging.

A little tilt of his head at his right-hand man was the signal to start. As impassive as ever, Tetsuya wrapped a bit of fabric from Tsunayoshi's shirt around one of his meaty fists and tore it off quickly, looking as it were some thin kind of paper, and let the shreds fall. The shocked student yelled and jumped, moving as if to run, but there was another hand clamped around his arm and he only got a few inches. "Hibari-san!" he called, struggling with confusion on his face. You know, Kyouya noticed idly, his eyes weren't half bad. A pretty shade of brown, lighter than average. Perhaps a little too expressive but maybe even sort of attractive, in a demure way. Even if his mewling was annoying other times, he imagined it would be nice to hear if he was mewling in pleasure, taken as he certainly would be by some stronger man. Maybe he'd make a good toy. Cat and mouse. He could get used to an arrangement like that.

He sat leisurely on a bench, ankles crossed in front of him as he watched with a wicked glint in his eyes. They were out in the open courtyard of Namimori Middle but no one would come here today, not that it really mattered. He could threaten anyone into silence. Maybe it would be even better if someone watched this.

The promised degradation was exciting him more than he'd thought it would. That was probably a bad thing by the usual moral standards. Which he supposed made it good that he didn't give a fuck.

It looked like he wasn't the only one getting aroused, though. A few of the members looked like they were about to crack, but they were well-disciplined. And anyways, they'd get their satisfaction soon enough. Kyouya wanted to draw this out. After all, he might decide afterwards that he wanted the brunette all to himself, and he wouldn't get to watch this again. It was sort of funny how disgusting other men could be about this sort of thing, but him? This was perfect. Primal.

He was attentive as Tsuna's trousers were torn away in the same fashion as his shirt. Hm. He looked even smaller now, girl-skinny and slender-shouldered. Maybe a little bony. It was sort of appetizing just to see the plain lack of muscle. He loved fighting, loved challenges, absolutely adored the thrill of a threat, but this was a different sort of attraction. Maybe it could be just as satisfying to dominate something utterly than it was to put down a challenge. Total control didn't sound too bad. The sort of toy he might like to try on for size.

Later. There were plans now.

Tsunayoshi yelled again, struggling harder with his arms flailing as fingers started to make their way over his shoulders. Tetsuya held him firmly, his other hand trailing along his skin. Kyouya wondered vaguely what it felt like. Was it silky or smoother than that? It looked soft, supple. Very supple. He saw it dip beneath the pressure of such a large hand, leaving red blotches wherever he was touched, and it didn't seem that Kusakabe was ministering with any strength. How delicate. Like some sort of porcelain doll.

He could feel his throat drying. Again he licked his lips, shifting a little to accommodate the discomfort that came with his growing arousal.

Thick fingers pinched one of the captive's nipples, earning a howl. It looked like Tsuna was catching onto what was going on. A second committee member had stepped beside him and taken his chin firmly between his thumb and index finger to kiss him. For a moment Kyouya arched an eyebrow dubiously, wondering if he was going to do something stupidly soft, but the sight of teeth nibbling a cute pink lip and a tongue pressing into the brunette's mouth forcefully made him chuckle quietly. It looked like terror in Tsunayoshi's eyes. Yum.

The white boxers that barely seemed to stay around the brunette's hips fell with a little help from a prying hand that looked as if it could wrap around one of Tsuna's thighs easily. He wondered vaguely what it felt like to be so weak but quickly discarded the idea. He wasn't, so what did it matter? Kyouya was the strong one. His captive was one of the unlucky ones that were born to be his playthings.

Standing blushing and struggling like that, nude and creamy pale but for the splotches of flustered red on his neck, he was a fairly tempting sight. The prefect's eyes drifted downwards to look at him appreciatively. Not aroused yet. Rather small, wasn't he? It suited him. All the cuter.

For several moments his sight of the kid was obstructed as one of the members laid a hand over Tsuna's crotch. It was big enough to completely cover it, fingers wrapping around his length, it looked like, teasing with fingertips for a couple of seconds before pulling away. The mewling it earned showed the effectiveness before Kyouya ever saw him stiffen. His tip had turned rosy and Tsuna was whimpering as he pulled at the hands on his arms with significantly less vehemence than before. His eyes were on the committee leader as if begging him to come over. Kyouya knew it was for mercy, but he liked the idea that the little brunette wanted him. Who could blame him? Kyouya was strong, and weak people were attracted to strong ones. Maybe he was enjoying being brought this low. After all, some people got off on that sort of thing.

He raised a hand and watched as brown eyes riveted on it, the brunette tensing as though he was waiting for whatever he would do. With a smirk, he snapped his fingers.

That was the signal.

With a yell Tsuna was pressed forward, forced over by a fist in his hair till he was bent double. Kusakabe knelt on a knee to press his mouth against what was undoubtedly a tiny entrance, probably bud pink, begging for attention. Kyouya could tell when he pressed his tongue inside by the way his victim's eyes widened and he started panting, his hands scraping feebly at the arm that held his hair.

He leaned back on the bench, uncrossing his legs. He couldn't keep them together anymore. After licking his lips he unzipped his trousers and, still sitting, pulled his shaft from the fabric confines with a little sigh of relief. For a moment he fancied that he was being admired by the bitch, considering the way he stared for several seconds before his attention was torn away as a member presented his equally bare cock and stood just inches in front of him, a hand on Tsuna's head expectantly. When he didn't comply, instead trying to shrink back, he pulled him forward and forced himself between the brunette's lips.

Kyouya could hear the whimpers and mewls and little pleadings for mercy from a few meters away. Good; he liked the sound of them. He liked seeing how Tsunayoshi looked even harder now, bent over and his throat raped. And that's what it was—his assailant was forcing himself deeper with every thrust till he had to be halfway down his neck. Kyouya swallowed hard, letting his gaze drift to the side to see Tetsuya stand again. Somewhere along the way he'd pulled his trousers down around his hips; he was just as lusty as any of the others. With a smirk Kyouya nodded.

He jerked his hips forward brutally, embedding himself deep in the student. There was a loud scream muffled around the invasion of his mouth; the man in front of him groaned, tipping his head back in appreciation of what must have been wonderful vibrations. Slender hips shook violently; he was trembling all over, blotches of red coming and going on his back and arms as he writhed weakly. Eventually the yells died into pained moans.

Several of the members had bared themselves; most had their hands wrapped around their members, masturbating to the sight. A few had lopsided grins. One came early, stepping forward to spill on Tsuna's back with a moan, though he earned a few jeers at his stamina. Tsuna whimpered, shrinking away. With that the man using his mouth thrust a few times, moving harder than before, and pulled back in time for thick fluid to spatter his face. He used a hand to draw out the orgasm; more drops landed on his cheeks. Kyouya could see one on the tip of an eyelash. He resisted the urge to moan at the sight.

The spent man was quickly replaced by another equally eager member. Tetsuya soon faltered and, although he looked a little sheepish, slapped the smooth hips in front of him hard with his open palm as he shuddered and came, buried deep inside the brunette, who yelped and shivered. His legs almost gave out in the split second that they went unsupported; then the empty space was filled again by another body, damp tunnel quickly invaded by the newcomer, making Tsuna whimper. He would have fallen if not for the hands on his waist.

He liked the sight of the sweat that was covering the petite body, otherwise so flawless. Those pretty brown eyes were narrowed and watery, tears streaking his rosy cheeks. Sweat had pasted his bangs to his forehead and Kyouya watched as a large hand brushed them out of his face. Did Tsuna lean into the touch a little? No, he was just looking at the prefect, the man in charge of all this. Forget the actual bodies around Tsunayoshi; Kyouya was the one fucking him, making this happen. He thought that was a spark of desire in his blurry eyes. Was he looking at him wishing that the others would go and it was instead the raven-haired leader bending him over like that? Probably did. Bitches liked the strongest. The thought set him on fire. The tenth—pah, what a title for a petite toy like this—wanted his touch.

He could keep wanting. Kyouya liked it when he wanted.

His hand was slowly stroking himself, and he knew humiliation when he saw it, and he knew shame when it wrote itself across the brunette's face. Shame because he wanted it. Shame because he moaned louder when he was looking at Kyouya's cock and because he was aware of it. Secret's out, dame, he thought with a wicked smirk. You've been thinking about me. You want to be my bitch.

Good. But it wasn't going to be that easy.

Leaning back in the chair, one arm slung over the back carelessly and the other idly rubbing himself, he caught the eye of the man behind Tsuna and clicked his tongue once. He didn't change his rhythm, evenly pounding what had to be a tight little ass, but he reached around his hips and wrapped his fingers around his arousal. He was scarlet red, had to be throbbing, hard as rock and no doubt painful. It was only a couple of movements of the hand before he spilled, yelling around the shaft in his mouth, his hips trembling and the committee member had to grab them to keep him from falling. His knees quivered like jelly. So cute.

And that back was covered by now in what was going to be itchy soon. Maybe he'd let the younger student use one of the showers in the school. Maybe he'd make him go home like that. For a moment he was left bare as the two members backed off, finished, and Kyouya snapped his fingers as the last reached for Tsunayoshi. Little too slow. That one could deal with it. When he hesitated, Kusakabe stepped forward and grabbed the brunette by the hair to drag him away from the group, pushing him with little resistance to his knees in front of the prefect.

His lips curled a little bit with pleasure at the sight of the boy's panting. His chest heaved with laboured breaths, and his face was still splotched with crimson blush. It looked as if he'd bitten his cheek, because there was a drop of blood on his lip. He would have been tempted to lean forward and lick it off if that hadn't already been well-used in the past few minutes. "You want this, Sawada," he murmured, satisfied with the flick of brown eyes up at his face and the way that Tsuna gulped when he looked back down at his cock. Looked like a little bit of admiration and a whole lot of want when his face reddened even more, eyes narrowing.

"H-Hibari—"

"No." The word was firm. "Keep quiet."

There was no objection. His quicksilver gaze followed a bead of sweat that dripped down a messy cheek. Those lips looked swollen, brightly coloured and very soft. It was a little tempting to tell him to have at, to move his hand and see if he would of his own volition take Kyouya, but he didn't want to give the little brunette that satisfaction. That was too much control. Besides, he liked the wanton look on that innocent face. It was too nice to spoil.

This was better than he could have imagined. His breath was starting to quicken, chest tightening with a familiar feeling of excitement. Funny to think that it was so good just to have someone watch him. Maybe next time he'd touch the boy himself, take him somewhere private and leave him just as much of a mess as ten men had today. He was licking his lips at the thought, already looking forward to giving it a try. But he couldn't do it too soon. Had to wait till Tsunayoshi was eager. Give it a week for the soreness to fade. He'd be mewling for Kyouya as if he was in heat.

With a pleased sigh he came, squeezing himself lightly and snickering as the brunette flinched when hot fluid hit his cheek. His narrowed eyes made the boy fidget but he didn't move away as the prefect kept stroking himself, shivering as the last drops landed on his nose, his lips. Perfect. He watched as Tsuna reflexively moved to lick his lip and then flinched, fresh blush blooming on his neck.

"Get cleaned up in the locker room," he murmured huskily. "See you Monday, Sawada." And, with a feral smirk, he stood, zipping his pants. "Kusakabe will make sure you don't take too long."

Was that disappointment in those big doe eyes? Looked like it. He wanted to growl with satisfaction.

He couldn't wait until next week.


	4. Daemon - Poetry

**AN: **This one's an oddball. I had people send me requests for poems, from Daemon, to their character. No prompts. No rating. I might include notes about relationships for clues about the poems? Note: Daemon's German. Also, as this _is _Daemon Spade, these are full of hidden and/or veiled meanings and sometimes threats.

**Tsuna **(I'm not sorry.)

…Pretty boy, pretty boy,  
Soft as a lamb.  
Come play a game as quick as you can.  
If you're too slow or dawdle like a child,  
Perhaps we'll try another round—  
And that requires brandy.

**Chrome**  
I spy a sweet little thing,  
Eyes like pearls and a rose's smile.  
Hard to believe skin so pale is full  
Of scarlet.  
Say, sweetie—let's try something out.  
If you win you get away,  
If you lose I get to play.

**Mukuro**

Nyaha! Pretty little lovely,  
Sharp as a tack.  
Be careful or you'll be bitten back.  
Pretty little eye,  
Red as a rose.  
Maybe I'll pluck it so it won't decompose.

**Dino **(...Long story. Drinking buddies.)

I'll have you know I hate horses,  
But you're pretty alright.  
It might be the blonde hair,  
Or the way your eyes light.  
Another life maybe,  
We'd have a different chance.  
Trade me your whip, I'll give you a kiss—  
You know nothing's quite so good as this.

**Mammon**

Hn. I can't say as I'm impressed.  
Any illusionist wouldn't be.  
That boss of yours is so depressed,  
Someone should put him out of his misery.  
In the end you're not so bad,  
Perhaps a little trite.  
Maybe try acting a little more mad,  
And in the end you'll be quite alright.

**Dino **(a different Dino mun. This one's a sadist.)

Leather and lace, lace and leather  
Soft and smooth, pretty and sweet  
Dark and rough and light as a feather.  
Kiss of a whip just won't compete  
To the kiss of a lip of a don.  
Give me a smack, a push, a jeer,  
It's never enough, darling dear.  
Let's play a shackle, a crop, a chain,  
See if you can make me call your name.  
I like surprises, pretty boy,  
So play me like a puppet.  
Break my string and mayhap we'll see  
Who's best the puppeteer.

**SECOND ROUND, a few months later.**

**Alaude**

Pretty lover, pretty life  
Wonder if it's not a lie.  
Written choir, writing lulls  
Make it worth the while on.  
Forced time, stolen rhyme  
Wonder what we pay for more.  
Call me lover, call me lie  
Listen to my lullaby.  
Choose the lace, scrub the leather  
Work and blood likes our skin.  
Pretty lover, pretty lie  
What could be our alibi?

**Dino **(The first one.)

_Ich hasse es zu wollen, was ich nicht haben kann._  
I thought about finding something that might belong to you.  
It's tempting when you like to keep it in plain view.  
I thought about it quite a while, watching my own gaze  
But it seemed I couldn't reach beyond the ever present haze.  
It made me wonder what was really meant to be.  
Maybe there's a little fate that might be you and me.  
It made me wonder if I ever missed my chance to rise  
And be what might be worthy of reflecting in your eyes.  
You might not have known, in the beginning or the end,  
But to be quite honest, it seemed you might just be a heavensend.  
Who needs a whip to tame a broken man?  
The fates told a different story than what I'd wound myself  
And here we are, a ways apart, different heart, unfortunate art.  
They never much cared for me anyway.

**Mukuro **(This is one based on my _But A Whimper_ Mukuro, but not so far gone. Flattering.)

Gone a dollar gone a day;  
make it all a perfect way.  
Take a moment take your time;  
it's all a very perfect rhyme.  
Wonder what you said to me  
underneath the yawning sea,  
calling all the years to see  
a screaming, cracking sanity.  
Call again, cry out to God;  
maybe the days are in your odds.  
Call the fates and play a verse;  
might you be lucky and take a hearse.  
Looks a lot like me in you,  
and oh my dear, the pity, too.  
They gave a gift when they gave you a heart, child.  
But maybe you deserve it more than I.  
So tell me love, tell a lie,  
I'll sing a lullaby  
when you ask for the blade  
and claim the plan that went awry;  
I'll make it quick, I'll make it nice  
so when you tire—and you will—  
little me, little you,  
I'll be here, for woe, for woo.  
You shouldn't suffer further on,  
when the worst hell isn't death  
but tragedy lingering another breath.

**Dino** (The sadistic one.)

_Wollen, ist ein Schlüssel zum würzigen Liebe._  
By the time you're done with me I don't know what to think.  
Breathing's nice, but so overdone. Your hand  
at my throat's a wonderful touch.  
My mind flits back to what you said earlier: That  
there's no gain without risk, so a life without chance  
is barely worth living.  
It's ironic because my life isn't risked now;  
I'm in no danger. And above all, I trust you  
not to harm me.  
But the thrill is worth the pain anyway; the feeling  
of hormones racing, endorphins crashing, dopamine  
flooding through my veins. Your hand's more than  
a fist; it's a risk.  
It's the skin behind my knee when you pull my leg  
over your shoulder. It's the pain as you rake my chest  
and I think you're going to tear me open.  
It's the way my vision narrows and the tips of my fingers  
start to tingle with what could almost be pleasure but  
isn't quite the same. My entire body responds to you  
in ways it never has.  
Dignity laid smeared; pride smashed to glittering, twinkling  
remnants.  
It's the way you look at me like I'm the only thing that  
matters, because you hold my life in your palm. It's as though  
I'm the one with the power.  
Maybe that's why I can't get enough even when I'm aching,  
sorely moaning, caught between your body and softer sheets.  
Maybe that's what you've done to me as my vision narrows  
and I can't seem to remember what I was thinking a moment ago.  
I think you've done something terrible, wondrous,  
horrible, glorious.  
Something to me.  
I pray you never know the power you have over me.

**Kyouya**

Do your hands hold the key to their eternity?  
When the blood on your skin isn't your,  
Do you know to whence they went, when you  
Evicted them from their lives?  
Sometimes I wonder if it's apathy  
When death on my hands doesn't  
Tell me secrets about them.  
Like a door is closed in my mind  
And so they can't get through.  
Is it the same for you?  
Big predator, apex top,  
Do you think about the lives on your sleeves?  
The sparks extinguished by you?  
Maybe it's weakness to wonder  
When they no longer matter to me.  
A corpse feels no satisfaction from a story,  
Passed on even to its murderer.  
All the same, I wonder.  
Is that what makes us different?

**Giotto**

You've written a love song, ma cherie,  
Of deco and perfection and sweet loyalty.  
You've written a long song  
Like sweet candy and cinnamon,  
A story to tell children to ward off the bogeyman.  
Your smile's like brown sugar,  
Eager to melt on the tongue  
And your eyes match your sincerity,  
Full of ageless gravity.  
Your charisma's a grace,  
Forever full of wisdom and sanity.  
Let me take your coat;  
I'll hang it by the door.  
Let me take your shoes;  
I'll wipe them clean for you.  
Sometimes a leader is meant to fall;  
There will be no one to catch you.

**Daemon** (Another Daemon mun. Hers is French!)

I want to hear your heartbeat because it echoes mine.  
I want to hear your breath because we breathe the same.  
I like to see your grin because we have the same smile  
And when you blink I see a line I never saw before.  
You tell me more about myself I never hoped to know,  
About a me with another life on a different shore.  
It's a little telling about myself, to learn about you,  
And I wonder what it says about us  
When touching is being touched anew.  
We know we're narcissists, and I suppose  
It's for the best.  
Because how better to be taught humility  
Than to one-upped by a man same as you?


	5. Chicken Soup for the Watermelon Soul

**AN: **Birthday fic.

**Pairing: **DaeAla

**Rating: **K+

**Chicken Soup for the Watermelon Soul**

"Ouïe! Aïe! Malheur à moi!" were the only things that came out of Daemon Spade's mouth when the doctor examined his arm and the cast was applied. It was also the only thing he said as he was toted back to his apartment and dumped unceremoniously into his king-size bed, although he did pause a moment to make sure Alaude wasn't actually leaving.

"Stop squealing," the blond finally hissed as he tossed a blanket over him. "You sound like a pig with your nose full."

"But mon ami," he whimpered, "what else am I supposed to do? My love's injured me, gravely!"

The icy gaze the claim earned garnered in turn a pinch of his lips, and Daemon said no more as Alaude moved from the bedroom. Had Alaude known that his impatience would result in this, he would have left the whining Frenchman to fend for himself with his cold. When he'd cuffed him to the bedframe so that he would stop opening the damned window, claiming that it was too hot with his fever but only going to worsen his chill, the last thing he'd expected was for Daemon to be stupid enough to _fall out of bed._

So it had gone from making him soup, to feeding him soup. His own litany of curses flitted through Alaude's mind whenever his eyes landed on the cast. What an ugly thing, too, bulky and uneven. It was a wonder Daemon hadn't yet complained of it not suiting his skin tone, or not fitting beneath his sleeve, or otherwise cramping his gutwrenching style.

When he laid the steaming bowl on the nightstand, Daemon blinked up at him with a wide smile, although it was tempered by the dark, puffy circles beneath his eyes. "Are you going to feed me?" he crooned playfully, but the effect was ruined by the nasally sound in his voice.

"Not if you make me regret it," was the stark reply as Alaude pulled up a chair and dipped a spoon into the broth. "Behave."

"Yes, mother." The snippy reply made Alaude narrow his eyes, but when no more sass was mouthed, he offered the spoon and Daemon parted his lips with a pleased expression. As his mouth closed around it his eyes widened and he pulled back with a gasp and a pained sound, grimacing. "Trop chaud, trop chaud! It's hot, Alaude!"

For once, Alaude's lips turned upwards with amusement, earning a hurt look. "You knew it would burn me, didn't you?" Daemon accused petulantly. "What a scamp!"

Without a word he blew on the next spoonful and offered it to a significantly warier patient, but after a moment of watching him as though expecting a trick, Daemon accepted it like the last and nodded with appreciation, relaxing back against the headboard. "Did you make it yourself, Alaude?" he asked curiously. "It tastes fresh."

He tilted his chin up as though with a little bit of pride, but otherwise gave no hint for an affirmative. "Stop talking and eat the soup so I can leave," he commanded flatly, watching without a hint of mirth.

"You know," Daemon managed between spoonfuls, "if you leave me here I could get hurt. Or spill something, like my medicine." He seemed rather proud of the argument, too, going by the gleam in his infuriating eyes.

Alaude didn't bother to answer, lips pursed. Feeding a man spoon by spoon was the job of a nurse, and a nurse he was not. (On the other hand, he would hate to have anyone else does this for Daemon, which was probably why he was in this position in the first place. Damn sentimentality, it could all go to hell.)

Somewhere halfway into the bowl he noticed Daemon watching him a little more intently, the dreamy look on his face that he always had just before trying something pointless and embarrassing. About three quarters through the bowl he reached for Alaude with his good arm, intending to pull him in, and halfway there was met with a still-steaming quarter of the bowl of broth splashing directly into his face-the cast wasn't supposed to get wet and he would be damned if he had to bring this man _back _to the doctor!

With a yelp Daemon let go and moved back, blinking broth from his eyes with a wounded expression. "I only wanted to thank you!" What gratitude, Alaude thought wryly, a kiss from a sick man.

"I don't want your germs." He considered saying _cooties _but decided somewhere mid-sentence that he was an adult and would use adult words. "Wash your face, I finished feeding you and I am going home." And, briskly, he turned and walked out the door, leaving a messy, burned, stuttering and shocked Daemon ill and with a broken arm. Hopefully he wouldn't fall out of any more beds.

Not that he cared. The next time wouldn't be his fault.


	6. DaeAla - A Thousand More

**AN: **Birthday fic.

**Pairing: **DaeAla

**Rating: **T

**Soundtrack: **A Thousand Years - Christina Perri

**A Thousand More**

It had been centuries since the clock had stopped its ticking.

Daemon looked at the face of the pocketwatch, at the faded spiderweb of paper that used to be a picture in its lid. No matter how he polished, the tarnish would not wear out of the metal. It tasted old when he pressed his lips against it and slid it back into his pocket. It wasn't a timepiece anymore, just a reminder of a clock that had stopped ticking a long time ago.

"Thousand years," he whispered, and was surprised at the sound of his own voice. Then he smiled wryly, wondering at how the dirt beneath his feet didn't shift at his steps. He was losing something, that he'd known for a long time; the reality of his illusion was crumbling bit by bit. But nothing lasted forever.

At least when he was weightless the crumbling building would not cave in on him. He lifted his head and looked at the vast ceiling of the cavernous room. In some places the dim sun peeked through the aged, broken plaster and rotted wood. The fresco was only a shadow of what it used to be. He thought he could see the yellow of the sun that used to shine in the middle of the ceiling; the dabs of sky swirling, circling the sun, reaching out to every corner of a dilapidated, forgotten throne room.

A ray of the real sun reached the dusty floor, tiles broken and faded. The desk in the middle of the room had rotted and stood lopsided, but something still glittered on it. With a sigh Daemon picked up the six rings and looked around with brows furrowed before he found the last, covered in dirt, where it had fallen a foot away. Slowly, carefully, he wiped each clean and pocketed them. The desk was useless now; a touch from even him would have it crumbling.

Carefully he pushed it aside, out of the ray of sunshine, and squinted up at the hole in the fresco above. It was ironic, he thought, or maybe divine, that it peeked through the center of the painted sun. Vaguely he wondered if Giotto knew about it, if he was still here. Perhaps he'd retreated into the ring, never to return, like the others. He knelt to arrange the rings in the pool of light, on the dusty floor, polishing their jewels as he did. Was it him, or had they faded, the brilliance of their gems?

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He'd thought he was done mourning a long time ago.

"Daemon."

There was a long pause before he turned. "I thought you'd left."

The dust didn't touch Alaude as he stepped through the debris. It was ethereal. They were more ghost than they'd ever been.

"I did for a while." For a long time they stood, looking down at the rings. Whenever darkness passed over them, it could have been a cloud or it could have been nightfall. Time didn't mean the same thing anymore.

Slowly he stood. "Why did you come back then?" he murmured softly, listening to the sigh of a draft as it passed through the corridors and into the room.

It was another long time before Alaude answered, and there was a tiredness beneath his eyes as he said, "You're alone here. Aren't you?"

He turned his head to look down one of the hallways. Darkness seemed to devour what had been golden and elegant. "I was the last one." Slowly he lowered his eyes to the rings again. The only twinkle was from two. "The others have died."

"Nothing survives being forgotten a thousand years." Alaude's whisper seemed to echo in Daemon's ears.

"I don't want to watch us fade." His voice cracked.

Alaude pulled his pocketwatch out and held it thoughtfully, looking at the lid with a distant expression. It was as tarnished as his own, Daemon thought with a pang of pain. Then it was tucked away again and their eyes met. He wondered if they were as faded as the jewels, or if it was just a shadow.

"That's the price we pay," he finally answered. "We can forget ourselves and fade quickly." He nodded at the dim rings. "Or we wait until the gems decide."

Daemon drew a slow breath. "It could be another thousand years."

The smile Alaude made was soft. "We've made it a thousand already. What's another?"

Despite himself he returned the smile and nodded. "You're right." And turned to look around at the grand throne room, that somewhere along the line had turned into a tomb. "We've been at the whims of fate this long." When Alaude laid a hand on his shoulder he thought he felt just a little bit of warmth, and that made his smile widen.

"No one's going to disturb this place," he said. "Including us. This place is for the dead."

"Does that mean we should take our rings with us?" Daemon asked, his lips pursed.

A hum. "No," he answered. "Eventually they'll all be dead."

He wasn't sure if the room had gone colder or they had. Finally he nodded. "Tomb fit for kings," he whispered.

"Isn't that what we were?"

With a wry chuckle he laid an arm around Alaude's waist and turned towards the broken stairs. "Really? I thought we were angels." He was thoughtful. "That would be poetic. Fallen angels."

"You're too dramatic." But Alaude's eyes had crinkled with pleasure. "It doesn't matter. We're ghosts now. I wonder if this is like growing old together."

Daemon blinked. "I like that," he murmured. "I guess it is."

With a smirk Alaude stepped out into the dim sunlight and he followed as they walked a path they no longer existed but was ingrained into their memories by youth. Together they turned back to look at the immense, broken mansion. He saw walls he remembered crumpled into rubble; golden, twinkling metal twisted and dark. Dirty. Nothing was clean. But that was what happened with age.

"Time isn't kind," Daemon whispered.

"Neither are we."

"Is this penance?"

Alaude turned to him curiously. "For?"

"For reaching too high." Daemon's expression was earnest. "For trying to make gods out of kings."

There was no answer. Instead he shook his head and pulled him back down the path that was as ghostly as they in their memories.

This was no place for them anymore.


	7. KyokoTsuna - World Is Mine

**Note: **Request.

**Pairing: **Kyoko x HDWM!Tsuna

**Rating: **M

**World Is Mine**

First they'd tried the penis extender.

Kyoko knew that it hurt Tsuna when he couldn't satisfy her no matter how hard he tried or what he used. Still, even the extender didn't do much but make her grimace when he rocked back and forth. It actually hurt a little bit, now.

"Take that off," she sighed, brows furrowing with concern as his face fell and he pulled back, reluctant. This guy just didn't seem to have it.

Next they'd tried the vibrator.

It had been okay, and she even managed to get a little wet when he rubbed it across her lips. His expression was hopeful as he looked up at her and she thought a moment, giving him a little nod. The sex still didn't feel good, even when he used his fingers to rub her in all the right places.

By now she was starting to figure out that the problem was in her head. She just didn't find it sexy to spread her legs and watch him pant after her, and she certainly wasn't going to be able to have a climax when she didn't even like him kissing her breasts and rolling his hips with as much grace as he could muster.

She knew it was a knock to his ego, and that made her feel horrible; but what was she supposed to do? She wasn't a very good actor, and besides, the idea of faking it for the rest of her life made her a little sick.

And so she turned to the one resource that every sexually challenged modern woman prizes: The Internet.

And she read. A lot.

By the time she was done, Tsuna was giving her worried looks when he got into bed beside her and she was still on the laptop. She wouldn't let him see what she was doing, and needless to say, he was considering the chance that she had turned elsewhere for satisfaction. She didn't blame him, the poor man. His puppy face was impossible to blame. So she dismissed his concerns with a kiss to the forehead and bade him a loving goodnight before she kept reading.

The first few days her spirits only fell at what she found. "The female orgasm relies on the female mind," one article said. "It is up to her to find her happy place." And she just couldn't find her happy place. "It can help to masturbate, to find a woman's favourite places, and then to tell her man what they are. She can fantasize for arousal and condition herself to enjoy sex," read another. And she tried that, a few times, but every time she thought of Tsuna kneeling over her and fucking her she could feel her arousal dipping back to nothing.

She started clicking ads. "How to give your woman orgasms!" The thought of some of what these sites said made her shudder. "How to make her shiver with your cock!" They'd already tried most of what was in those.

And then she clicked the wrong ad. Well, she said it was the wrong ad, but really, she'd been curious when she saw the whip and just convinced herself that she'd meant to click the ad about recipes just above it.

It was a sex shop, she figured out quickly enough. When she saw strapons, she thought it was the lesbian section and her mouse hovered over the cancel button until she blinked, frowning at the highlighted category. "Dominatrix."

...Dominatrix, huh?

With lips pursed she mulled over the idea, quickly realizing she really wasn't sure what that entailed, and a little worried at her own draw towards the concept. So what better than to Google it?

And watch videos.

And shop the sex toy shop again.

...And maybe, just maybe, buy something. At least Tsuna didn't handle the bank cards. She didn't want him to ask why "The Dominatrix Store" was on their credit statement.

He was going to find out anyway.

She rolled her shoulders, taking a deep breath as she stowed the box in the bedside table. She was already wet just thinking about it, and she felt a little guilty for that, but lots of people said it was perfectly okay so she didn't feel too bad. Tsuna would understand, right? He would probably even like it. After all, she'd always suspected that he was a little bit...on the fence.

"Tsuna!" she called lightly, nibbling her lip and perched on the edge of the bed. There was a pause before she heard his footsteps come up the hall and he poked his head in curiously, brows furrowed-it was the dazed look he had when doing paperwork, she realized, so all the better that she chose now to give him a break from that-and blinked, jaw slowly dropping.

For a while now she'd suspected that he'd held out the vain hope that she would wear lingerie for him, but he'd never broached the subject when their sex life was already so frustrating and unfulfilling for her. And if she was already shopping online, why not?

She could feel his gaze rake over her one inch at a time and she shifted a little, leaning back on her hands on the mattress, smiling shyly. The lace was soft enough that it didn't itch, as she'd worried. Actually, she felt pretty good in it.

As silly as he could be sometimes, his look was all man as he stepped into the room and closed the door gingerly behind him. "Wow," was the first thing he said, still a little surprised, his voice dropping to a husky tone that made her smile widen. Good; she'd worried that he wouldn't be a fan of lace. Then again, the description had said that no man could resist a babydoll and thong, and she was inclined to take it for its word.

"Is there...something special you wanted to try then?" he asked carefully, moving closer and seeming to pause just out of reach, waiting for her to give the go-ahead. She liked it when he was thoughtful like that.

"Sort of." She bit her lip. "I like it when you're...flaming."

Tsuna stood there blinking a moment and then he pulled his gloves from his pockets, looking at them thoughtfully. "You want to try with me in Hyper mode?"

"Yeah." Her smile was hopeful. "I do." This was probably classified as manipulative, but she just called it a plan.

He nodded slowly and put the gloves on. "Alright then." And he closed his eyes, took a deep breath...and opened them again.

If there was anything Tsuna was, she reflected, impotent was not one. She had to shiver at the sudden heat around him, even if it was more her mental reaction than real heat. And if she had to guess what was going through his mind right now, she could lay all her money on a bet that said it was something about pleasing Kyoko with his dying will.

Oddly enough, she _really _liked that.

He leaned in to kiss her suddenly, baring her back to the bed with a little force, but she was a little struck by the gentleness in his hands despite the brute determination in his eyes. She liked the way he moved his lips against hers, tempted her to part them for his tongue, and she loved the moist heat of his mouth as it traveled over her neck and his hands, gloves and all, roamed over the lace and under the fabric that hung lightly around her stomach.

"Tsuna," she murmured, and when his lips continued over her collarbone she raised her voice. "Tsuna!"

He paused, glancing up at her questioningly. Kyoko had to wonder a little why she enjoyed the flat, fiery look in his eyes.

"I'm going to try something," she explained, pushing him lightly and rolling aside. His confusion was obvious but he didn't object, watching her intently. Actually, she had to imagine that moving much would be uncomfortable for him, if the bulge in his trousers was any indication. Wow.

Taking great care to keep her body between him and the nightstand and perfectly aware that he was growing ever more curious, she opened up the drawer and pulled out a small bottle of clear liquid and a fifteen centimeter dildo. It was hot pink.

When she turned around, there was confusion on Tsuna's face. "I thought you said the extender hurt."

"It did." She was biting her lip as she walked around the bed and paused behind him. "We're trying something else." Laying it on the coverlet, she reached around him and started to unbuckle his belt, earning a little twitch of surprise. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off carelessly, letting it fall to the floor. "Just remember that this is to help me, right?"

Any sign of confusion fell away like another garment. This dying will thing was pretty useful. Maybe she'd use it next time she needed help cleaning the garage.

She was surprised by just how nervous she was, after days of planning this. It had taken three weeks for the box to arrive, too. But part of the nerves might have stemmed from the way her breath caught as she kissed her husband's back, enjoying the taut skin over his spine, and slowly pulled off his trousers and boxers. It was rare for her to see his ass, she realized suddenly, which was a shame, because he had a very nice ass.

Her thong slid off easily and pooled on the floor around her feet. She didn't realize she was biting her lip as she gingerly knelt on the mattress and slid the back of the toy between her legs, shuddering as it rubbed her in the right spot. Her lips were dry, so she licked them and swallowed hard.

His skin was pleasant beneath her hands, and he hadn't looked back at her yet. It felt like there was a little tension there as he waited, but she couldn't blame him for that.

Kyoko had rehearsed this a dozen times in her head, but she still fumbled with the bottle as she poured gel into her hand and rubbed them together to warm it up. It was a wonder she didn't spill it, she reflected vaguely as she pressed a finger against him. Had Tsuna ever used this part of him...? She was too shy to ask, and it struck her as a little funny that she could do this but couldn't bring herself to say that aloud.

A small sound of surprise made her pause. "This is for me, remember?"

And he quieted, shoulders visibly tense, but he didn't move away. She sighed in relief.

When her finger slipped inside him her face darkened to a shade of pink. Was this a little like what he felt when he was inside her? The tight, smooth warmth that enveloped just her finger was incredibly erotic. Slipping her finger in further, she was already more aroused than she'd ever been with him. A second finger and her chest had tightened, her breath hitching with desire. The lubricant was supposed to be warming, and by the way her hands tingled pleasantly and he had begun to pant, it was doing its job.

Was that enough? She hoped so, because she was quivering, impatient to get started, to move forward, urged on by the small moans he gave. The tips of her fingers searched carefully, recalling where _that spot_ should be...

He arched his back and gasped, clenching around her fingers. She almost drew back in surprise. There, then. Her breath had quickened almost as much as his when she shifted forward and pressed the tip of the dildo against him. He tensed; she stroked his hips slowly.

"Relax. It'll be better that way."

The husky edge in her own voice was both surprising and gratifying. He shivered a little beneath her hand, holding his hip steady as she used the other to slip the toy inside him. Slowly, she reminded herself, gently, no reason to be impatient. Take good care of him. She was hyperaware of the perk of her nipples beneath the lace, the scrape of fabric over them.

"Shh," she hummed, stroking his back as she sheathed the shaft a little deeper. What was that, three inches? He was panting again, hips raised, a pink blush all over his body now. She hadn't realized before how smooth his thighs were. Funny, she had to shave to be that nice.

Even if she couldn't feel it, the sight of the length pressing into Tsuna drove her wild. As she put pressure on it, it rubbed her just right, and she was aroused enough for it to be a good thing. His little whimpers sounded far more pleased than pained, and by the time he had six inches they were both breaking a sweat.

Slowly she pulled back and pressed forward again, coaxing him into taking more. It seemed like she was taking this too quickly, but he didn't seem to mind. Her fingernails scraped at his back as she started to rock, carefully, giving a moan of her own at the slow friction building up. Eight inches, and her hips were pressed against his, and it was all the way in, and it was warm, and he was warm, and it was wet on both ends now and Kyoko couldn't stop a whimper as she quickened her pace and started moving against him. She liked the soft slap of skin on skin now. The smooth, taut skin on his back reddened under her scratches.

A drop of sweat rolled down her back as he started to move with her, murmuring her name breathlessly. She was panting too hard to do the same. When she started to roll her hips, moving in a different motion, both gasped with pleasure. He clawed at the sheets; she clawed at his sides. "Kyoko!" he moaned, jerking back against her demandingly. She bent over him and wrapped a slender arm around his waist, pleased to find how aroused he was, just as much or more than when he entered her. He growled like an animal when she squeezed and tugged and moved her hand in time with her thrusts.

She'd had other tricks up her sleeve, hadn't expected to be so into this already, but she couldn't bring herself to stop and take her time. They could do more later; this was amazing as it was.

Her little whimpers had grown. The lace stretched across her breasts created a delicious heat between his back and her skin and her nipples sent little shocks of pleasure grinding more deeply into her when they rubbed him. There were spurts of resistance against her movement when he clamped down around the length, and it made the pressure between her legs all the better. "Tsuna," she murmured, whimpering, her knees trembling against the coverlet as she moved faster. "Ah..." Her breath came in gasps; she was too excited to notice that his did, too.

It hit her like a wave and she yelled softly, thrusting erratically, her hand squeezing him hard. It felt as though an inferno had opened in her belly and taken over the rest of her, making quick work of burning her to a cinder. Her muscles were turning into jelly when he yelped and came onto the sheets, bucking back against her and grinding, twitching in her hand. She shook as she pulled back and laid aside the toy, shivering with every movement, going dizzy as she collapsed onto her side.

That was amazing.

Tsuna had fallen onto his stomach, panting into a pillow as he closed his eyes. The flame on his forehead flickered and went out as though it had never been, and he was left flushed and bedraggled, red lines scored down his back. The sweat had to sting.

Slowly he opened an eye and looked at her, his gaze mild with exhaustion. "When you asked for Hyper mode," he muttered breathlessly, "that wasn't what I expected."

Her smile was lopsided, too innocent to possibly belong to a woman who'd just done...that. "You liked it."

His reply was a muffled grunt, maybe a little indignant, but he curled against her anyway, laying an arm around her. She ran fingers that were still unsteady through his hair. He was asleep in no time; she took a little longer.

After all, her mind was already wandering back to that website. Just how much could she get away with, again?


End file.
